Sunday, July 27, 2014

As I got ready to start writing this entry, I realized that July 20th marked the 8th anniversary of the creation of this blog. Not to be to self-congratulatory, but I never thought I'd continue this blog for this long. I thought I would either run out of things to say, or get the type of job that would cause me to delete this blog for my own safety. Neither has happened and here I am about to start yet another entry.

Swimming was one thing that I could not do when I started writing this blog. I had a traumatic experience when I was 5, and I chose to avoid all things swimming until five years ago. My main Sabin learned to swim, and I decided to do the same, and now I'm able to swim one to two miles as part of my morning workout.

The scary part of not knowing how to swim was when my oldest son Carlton and I would go to the pool. He learned how to swim at age 3, and by age 10 he was diving and swimming in 12-feet deep water. I was terrified because if at any point he lost control or started to drown, I'd have to rely on the lifeguard or someone who could swim, because I couldn't do jack shit. Luckily, he never got into any trouble.

Today, my youngest son Nyles and the rest of my family, attended a cookout, and there was a pool in the backyard. I got in the pool, and I was able to guide Nyles in the water so he could begin to get comfortable with being in the water. He clutched me for dear life, and he did a little bit of crying, but he enjoyed his time in the water. More importantly, it felt good to be leading my son toward being more confident in the water at a young age. That's a little something we call, bringing things full circle. Again, this is probably not a big deal to anyone but me, but that's how it should be I suppose.

Tuesday, July 08, 2014

This morning after my five-mile run, I was in the midst of doing my customary cool down walk-stretch combination, when I noticed a white woman walking towards me. She had her earphones in, but I noticed that once she saw me, she pulled her iPod out, turned the volume down, and took one ear bud out--something I also do when someone is coming towards me or when I notice someone behind me (keep in mind it was 5:15 am). Once we walked by one another, she said, "Good morning", and I returned the favor. Harmless enough right? No

I didn't simply say good morning my friends, but I summoned the most proper good morning greeting I could muster (think Geoffrey Holder meets Dennis Haysbert). I felt it was necessary to let this woman know that I was just a regular, proper-speaking black man who was out for a morning jog, and not an improper speaking thug looking to harass her at 5am. Never mind that at that very moment I walked by her, a very defiant and profane song by Brand Nubian, entitled "Lick Dem Muthafuckas" was playing in my headphones, and after a five-mile run I was feeling anything but pleasant and cordial. Yet, in an effort to be disarming and pleasant, I ignored my first inclination to be "normal", and chose the safe route.

On one hand, I feel I like did what has been very normal and comfortable for me for the longest time. Since elementary school, I've been in situations where there were less than five percent black folks, which meant I took it upon myself--either at the urging of my parents or some type of internal instinct--to carry myself in a certain way, so that I could show the majority (white folks) how the other half lived (that's some painful shit to type in 2014). On the other hand, given that I am damn near 40 and grown (but not sexy), I know good and goddamn well that I should not be dancing that dance for some woman I don't even know. If she was scared as I approached her, that shouldn't have been my problem and I shouldn't have bent over backwards to make her feel comfortable, by acting in a way that made me feel the exact opposite. I know we all wear the mask and shit, but damn..I took it too far, and I still feel like a sellout.

Friday, July 04, 2014

Some holiday observations..:

A co-worker of mine handed me a flyer yesterday, and the contents of said flyer indicated that a) There was a birthday party on 7/12 and b) It was an all-white (attire, not race) affair. I thanked the young lady for the flyer, and then promptly placed it my work satchel. That flyer has since been tossed in the trash.

By no means am I a snob, and I don't think I am better than anyone for the most part, but as I approach 40, there are certain things I simply have no interest in doing. One, I haven't gone to a party which requires an invitation via flyer since college. Back then, there was no Internet. so party promoters had to catch students outside the cafeteria, the book store or a sporting event, so that everyone knew the details of the party later that night. These days, I just want to be told verbally, via text or via email. The flyer aspect of the transaction just makes it juvenile. Again, I am well-aware that I could possibly be using flawed logic here. It is neither the first nor the last time that has happened.

Second, I am NOT a fan of the all-white party phenomenon. I call myself a responsible adult, but the stark reality is that I am as sloppy and clumsy as my 2-year old son. If I'm dressed in all white, and then I decide to do my usual and drink red wine, I am basically a time bomb waiting to go off. One trip, one moment of losing balance, and I have red wine on my all white and I will either have to leave, or play it off (not a real option).

Furthermore, the current state of my closet, doesn't even allow me to attend a white party. I have white shirts for days, but I do NOT own white pants, white shoes or a white belt. That means I'd have to go shopping--which in Rashad-speak means I'd send my wife to the store--to get clothing items I would never, ever wear again. And this would all be in the name of attending a co-worker's birthday part? Negro please.